Salutem: One More Chance
by LibereTandem
Summary: He was a criminal on the loose. She was a singer with a bitter past. Will their fated meeting bring them the peace they have craved for so long, or will it ultimately destroy them? Full summary inside. My very first story!
1. Prologue

He was a criminal on the loose.

She was a singer with a bitter past.

Calculating. Manipulative. Scarred.

One of Japan's most dangerous felons, Daidouji barely escaped with his life after his fall during the Nemesis Crisis. Now, with only shattered ambitions and a burning desire for vengeance, he ends up in the hidden town of Chinatsu, and face to face with its equally mysterious singer.

Elusive. Distant. Terrified.

Determined to find freedom, Amaya Cordova fled from her abusive husband and settled down in Chinatsu. Years of fear and hatred taught her to build a fortress around her heart and soul. A fortress she has so fiercely guarded. But when a stranger shows up pleading for her mercy, those walls threaten to start crumbling down.

Will their fated meeting bring them the peace they have craved for so long, or will it ultimately destroy their lives?

This is a story of anger and fear, love and laughter, change and permanence, damnation and salvation. Hope y'all enjoy, and please R&R! PM me if you have any suggestions, or if you wanna, you know, hang out? :)

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**Finally got this outta mah systeeeeem! Woot woot!**

** Okay, so first of all, I know some of you would not be… pleased with my choice of character (Believe me, I hated him once. Cue word: ONCE). Some of you might demand an explanation. So… I'll try my best to give you one.**

**Why did I choose Doji? Well, my very first bey was Dark Wolf. A rip-off one at that. And yes, I loved it with all my heart. Until I, uh, accidentally lost it *bangs head on the table*. Why why why?! *sobs***

**Anyway, this story has been bugging me waaaay too long, so I had to write it or I'll lose my mind. So please, don't hate (yet). I'll try to update as often as i can, m'kay?**

** Peace out, y'all!**


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT AND I NEVER WILL OWN METAL FIGHT BEYBLADE.**

**Would it be weird if I told you that I wrote this while listening to a love song? For anyone who's interested, it's "Sometimes It Happens" by Never the Strangers.**

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Doji staggered across the brightly-lit street, excruciating pain shooting up his battered body. His erratic breathing and the sound of his footsteps broke the still silence of the night.

He cursed as he pressed one trembling hand tightly to his wounded side, willing the bleeding to stop. The shreds of his black shirt tangled up in his fingers, and he was disgusted when he felt that the fabric was warm, wet, and soiled with what could only be blood.

One step. Another step.

Each step was like walking on fire.

A deep cut tore up his chest, making each breath he took painful.

Three knife cuts ran from the bottom of his spine up to his neck.

There was a gash that marred his right arm, starting from the shoulder blade down to his elbow, rendering it useless.

Slashes tore up his lower limbs, and his artificial leg bore a gash.

An enormous cut ran from the left side of his forehead down his jaw.

Small, numerous scratches and bruises covered up the parts of his body that were fortunate enough not to be wounded.

Just earlier, he had been horrified to find that some of his ribs had been broken.

He stopped, and leaned against a streetlight. The coolness of the metal soothed his burning flesh. He wanted to sit down, even sleep, but ultimately decided against it. With the injuries in his legs, he might not be able to get up. And he'd die.

He walked on.

The road seemed to stretch unendingly. He concentrated hard, trying to find any evidence of people inhabiting the place- a house, a car, heck, even a garbage can. It was difficult, considering the fact that the loss of blood was making him feel light headed and woozy. But to his dismay, there was none at all.

"C'est de conneries", he cursed in his native French, frustrated out of his mind.

He broke into a limping run.

It all happened two days ago. After his fall at the hands of that damned brat Ryuga, he had nearly died of extreme fatigue as he swam with all his might to the shores of the island of King Hades. Stealing one of the brats' boat, he swallowed up his fear and braved the raging storm, his shaking hands holding on for dear life on the edge of speedboat while it made its way to the borders of Japan. Then he had ran to the nearest forest he could find. It was his safest bet. Nobody would find him, and nobody could hurt him

He'd been wrong.

He remembered the brilliant flash of daggers as the moonlight reflected on their blades, like silver flames cutting through the black of the night. The frightful ringing in his ears while the demons in the darkness howled in cruel laughter. The sensation of being torn apart, and the blistering pain nearly driving him over the edge. The gleam of sadistic, vicious evil in the dark eyes of his captors, and the whispered words hanging in the air.

"Where's your money?! Where is it?", they had hissed at him, while driving the knife to his body again and again.

"What money?! I don't have any, you blithering idiots! Stop! Stop! NOOOOOOO!"

His screams had filled the whole forest that night.

For the life of him, he could not remember how he had escaped them. All he knew was that a minute later, he found himself on the road, badly hurt and bleeding profusely. But alive. Shredded, but alive.

For two days, he wandered the street, carefully staying out of sight. Occasionally, he'd see a stream, some leftovers thrown by travelers. For two days, he'd scavenged like a lowly beast, struggling to survive. For two days, he fought tooth and nail with fate and health to live.

Would the hooligans come back for him? Maybe. There was a narrow chance, but he had to be prepared. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the way his wounds opened up with each step he took. He limped along faster.

Tonight won't be the night when he'd die.

He would make it. By heaven or hell, he would make it. He will not die.

Feelings of nausea riled up in his stomach, and the world seemed to swirl around and around at a dizzying speed.

He looked down, and felt sick when he saw that he had left bloody footsteps on the road.

He had to keep moving. No point in feeling squeamish.

Doji hobbled along at a considerable pace, looking hard ahead of him.

He could almost hear his legs creaking in protest as he pushed himself on. Damn this pain. Damn the whole world!

After what seemed like a millennium, he came across a left turn of the lonely road. At the right side of the street, an ancient sign hung on an iron bar, its creaking carried across by the cold wind blowing along. The smell of rust and old paint mingled with the grassy scent of the forest, and the chilling smell of his blood. A long row of houses lined the street, each illuminated by glowing streetlights.

He approached the old sign, squinting in the dull glow of the streetlight. He could barely make out the faded, chipped words on the wooden board.

"WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF CHINATSU."

Town of a thousand summers. Chinatsu, the only place in Japan whose soils have remained untouched by beys. How appropriate that he ended up here.

Time to move on.

He continued on his depressing, grueling trudge towards the town, passing houses which looked oddly similar to each other in architecture, a few steel garbage cans, some apartment complexes, and occasionally a stray cat or dog who was probably looking for a decent place to spend the night.

Just like himself.

He was just passing a tall, maroon building when-

"GETTHEHELLOUTTAMYWAAAAY!"

Doji turned just in time to see blindingly bright lights coming his way, the yellowish beams stunning him into immobility. He stood there, frozen in shock, and for a brief second he wondered if those lights belonged to those thugs who had attacked him earlier, or worse, the WBBA. Intense panic struck his whole being, constricting his throat and causing him to hyperventilate. He collapsed down on the hard, gritty street.

The lights slowly dimmed down, and through dazed eyes, he saw a slim figure descend from what looked like a motorcycle. "Hey, hey! What the hell is wrong with you?!", a female voice yelled. He heard the tap-tap-tap of shoes across the concrete as she ran towards him.

Doji felt a pair of small, gloved hands on his shoulders, and groaned when the stranger lifted his head into her lap. The metallic taste of blood filled his tongue. "What the-?! Oh gods! Can you speak? Who did this to you?!", she demanded, her voice taking on an edge.

Fighting the agony with the last remnants of his strength, he looked up, and saw a pair of vividly gray eyes looking back into his own. "Help… me…"

The last thing he remembered was a loud gasp, before he sank into darkness.

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**That's it for the first chappie! Hoped you like it!**

**Oh yeah, I kinda assumed that Doji had a bit of French blood in him. I don't know… I just felt like he's not pure Japanese.**

**Okay guys, you know the drill! Read and review! :) Bye!**


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT AND I NEVER WILL OWN METAL FIGHT BEYBLADE.**

**Sorry if I haven't been able to update. I got sick, and until now, my eyes still feel like they're going to burst out of my skull. Should I be wearing glasses now? O_o**

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"Help… me…" The words were uttered in a barely audible sigh.

Amaya stared in utter horror as the man closed his eyes, his head hung low. He did not seem to be breathing anymore.

No. Oh no no no no no…

Apprehension wove its way into her as she adjusted the man's position, her face twisting into a grimace when he moaned softly. In the dim light, he was unrecognizable, the dried blood nearly covering the whole of his skin. His snowy hair was matted with more blood and mud, the dirt-encrusted strands brushing her arm. Scrutinizing him much more carefully, she felt her stomach churn with revulsion when she saw the huge, gaping wound running down the left side of his face, and the ones on his chest.

"Sir? Can you… speak?"

Silence.

Uncomfortable feelings prickled through her, making her hands shake and beads of cold sweat to form on her brow. This man… The way he looked like… All that blood…

He reminded her of things... Things she had never fully forgotten, no matter how hard she tried.

The dark room.

The old, rickety wooden chair.

The cruel whip.

And the sound of a man's deep laugh, combined with her screams of pain.

This wasn't good.

She had to get this stranger away from her.

Amaya stared at the bloody face for a second, trying hard to keep herself from getting up and banging on every damned door in the vicinity for help, or screaming at the top of her lungs. She couldn't very well do that;the results were quite …unsavory the last time she did so. Calling an ambulance was out of the question too, since her phone's battery had long died. The motorcycle was too risky...

The motorcycle!

Could it work...?

Usually, she was never one to make dangerous moves hastily, but desperate times did call for desperate measures.

Amaya pushed all thoughts and worries away, then carefully slung the man's left arm over her shoulder. She slowly moved her legs, and struggled to stand up, supporting his weight with her arms. She made her way towards her motorcycle, ignoring the way the man's whimpers and groans triggered feelings of fear and anger inside of her. Blinking rapidly to fight the drowsiness, she manoeuvred him so that his arms were wrapped around her waist, and pushed his legs so that they both sat on the seat of the motorcycle.

Holding his hands in place, she dug in her pocket for her scrunchy, and tied his wrists together carefully so that they didn't slide off, but not to tightly so as to prevent blood circulation. The fishy smell of blood sickened her.

"Lean on me", she commanded. He had seemed to regain his senses during the process of her loading him on the vehicle, and was now trying to prevent as much bodily contact from her as possible.

"C-can't…"

"And why not? Do you want to fall off?" She was now kick-starting the motorcycle. She tried to shake off the thought that the man's bloody arms were staining her cream shirt.

"It h-hurts… Chest… w-wound…" His answer came out in short gasps, his voice low and hoarse.

She felt a stab of pity. Pain was a feeling she knew all too well. "I'm sorry, but we have no choice. I can't risk you falling off the bike, so please bear with it for a while, okay?" , she replied soothingly, revving up the engine. "The hospital is about twenty minutes away from here. Can you make it?"

"…mgnmph."

Amaya let out a cleansing breath. "Now, hold on to me, and do not ever let go. I mean it." She glanced back at him. "I'll keep you safe. Trust me."

Trust.

He coughed, then rested his weight on her. "F-fine then …"

"Good. Now here we go. Hold on tight!"

She revved up the engine one more time, and zoomed off, the sound of the motorcycle ringing in her ears.

She looked back at the man, whose head was lolling from side to side. His eyes were scrunched up tight, and he was… growling?

"Hang on! I'll try to make this trip as quick as possible!", she shouted over the roar of the motorcycle, then did a sharp turn at the narrow curve on the street.

"…mmmmmmmph!"

"Sorry!"

The speed of the motorcycle shot up to 80 kilometers per hour, and Amaya gritted her teeth, letting the stranger's sounds of pain drown in the rough sound of the engine.

She'd get him to safety, and get him away from her if she valued her sanity.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Somebody help me!", a loud voice could be heard outside the hospital, startling the guard out of his sleep and his dream.

It had been a good dream too. He had been walking along a golden road with inlaid diamonds, listening to the sound of classical music as he walked by. In front of him was a chocolate temple, complete with a chocolate fountain, and even chocolate guardians standing on each side of a chocolate gate.

Just when he was so close to taking a bite of the luscious ch-

"You!", the voice interrupted his train of thoughts. He shook his head, and looked around the vicinity. Ah, there she was! In the deserted parking lot, there was a darkened figure of a woman perched on a motorcycle, her dark, wavy hair a billowing mess around her face. Behind her, a tall man was leaning on her back, his face touching the back of her head. In the dark, he appeared to tower over the driver of the motorcycle.

"Mr. Guard! Please get over here!", the woman demanded. "I need you to call a nurse! Or a whole damned horde of them!"

The guard narrowed his eyes at her. "What's the matter?!", he called back.

"Whaddaya think?! I need help! This man here's about to die!" The figure raised her hand, and waved vigorously. "Now get moving!"

At the sound of the word "die", the guard shook his head, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him straight to the hospital. It was a few minutes before a crowd of almost ten nurses rushed out and into the parking lot, pushing a trolley with them.

The guard returned to his post, and watched the people load the unconscious man on the trolley, with the woman barking out an occasional order or reprimand. Then he moved aside a little bit, letting the crowd pass through.

The woman stopped beside him. With her disheveled hair, pale skin, and bloodstained clothes, she reminded him of those ghosts so often seen in those tacky horror movies. Dark circles ringed her gray eyes, and in the harsh light of the hallway, she looked tired and worn-out.

"Sorry if I was so rude earlier."

"No problem, ma'am. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I shouldn't have shouted at you and at the staff. It's just that…" she ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "Thinking of that guy dying makes me feel afraid and guilty and a bit hysterical, you know what I'm saying?"

"Um."

"But yeah, sorry about earlier."

"Like I said, it's no problem." The guard looked at her for a bit, and his eyes widened in recognition. "Wait, aren't you-?"

"Yes, it's me." She smiled, her dimples showing. "Come to the pub next time. I might dedicate a song to you."

"Heh. Thanks."

"Uh, listen, I better go now. Thanks for your help." She turned on her heel, and started to jog back to her motorcycle. "Oh, wait…" She faced the staring guard once more. "Please tell the staff to not reveal my name to the man, okay? In case any of them knows me."

His interest was piqued. "Why?"

"Believe me, it's better that way."

Still wondering, the guard watched her run to the parking lot, and mount the motorcycle. In no time at all, he heard the engine roar to life, and the sound of skidding wheels as she drove off into the darkness.

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**DOOONE!**

**Please R&R! Love ya!**


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